


Desperate fools

by Gem_Gem



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: I'm Bad At Titles, Jealous Sherlock, John Loves Sherlock, Johnlock Fluff, Love Confessions, M/M, New Year's Eve, New Year's Fluff, New Year's Kiss, New Year's Resolutions, New Years, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes Has Feelings, Sherlock Loves John, Smart John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-04
Updated: 2016-01-04
Packaged: 2018-05-11 14:50:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5630494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gem_Gem/pseuds/Gem_Gem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's all so obvious.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Desperate fools

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, I'm sorry that this is so late. I suck, I know. I'm sorry. I tried so hard to get this done for New Year's but it just wasn't to be.  
> I hope you like it anyway. Even if it's clichéd and late.  
> <3 Happy New Year everyone.

**Where are you? SH**

**At Lestrade's place. I told you, Sherlock. He's having a New Years party and invited us. You said you didn't want to come because, and I quote, "it would be too monotonous and tedious, and full of single, desperate fools just looking for a quick alcoholic fix and an excuse to get laid."**

**When will you be back? SH**

**Obviously sometime after 12**

**The woman you have your eye on is probably gay. I'm 99.6% sure. SH**

**Shut up**

**I wouldn’t try and kiss her on the strike of 12. In fact, I wouldn’t try and kiss anyone there, if I were you. SH**

**Well, good job you’re not me.**

**I’m supposing that there aren’t a lot of women there, either. Too bad. The drinking is definitely needed then. – Don’t get too smashed. I cannot abide you drunk. You’re constantly on the sniff for some kind of sexual favour. SH**

**I am not constantly on the sniff for anything, Sherlock!**

**The last time you came home drunk, you grinned at me and told me I had lovely smooth, pale skin and a pretty mouth. SH**

**You’re making that up! Look, just stop texting me. I’m trying to have a good time.**

**Why did you take your phone if you didn’t want me to text you? SH**

**I’m turning it off. See you later.**

**You’re not turning it off. You’ve merely put it on silent. SH**

**Stop texting me!**

**You might as well just come home, John. You’d be in better company, with far better booze. SH**

**Are you asking to spend New Years with me? Is that what this is? Just come here, Sherlock.**

**We have quite good Brandy and Scotch left over still. What does Lestrade have? Cheap champagne and cider? SH**

**Bring it with you then. Come here.**

**Only enough for two. SH**

**I’m not leaving, Sherlock. That’d be rude. I’ll be back after.**

**I’ve got a new song too. Require your opinion on it. SH**

**I’ll be back later, Sherlock.**

 

John replaced his phone to his pocket, determined to ignore any more new messages, and returned to Lestrade’s side with a smile and a meaningful roll of his eyes as he took back his drink, “Sorry about that.”

“Sherlock?” Lestrade guessed with a faint grin and a nod. “He coming after all?”

John scoffed in reply and shook his head, glancing at the people around him with a forced look of interest, “So, who don’t I know here?”

Lestrade nudged his elbow and tipped his head to the right, walking him across the room to three women in glimmering and glistening dresses that caught the light like fractured and shattered glass. The sight reminded him suddenly of Sherlock; of the way a window had exploded in a shower of glittering shards as Sherlock had sent a would-be thief headfirst through it with one strong kick to the man’s back. Sherlock had turned to John a split second before he had followed the man out, his eyes alight and his mouth quirking, pupils dilated and head cocked. John shook the memory aside and returned his attention to the women in front of him, politely exchanging small talk and enjoying the flowery and warm perfume from their slender throats and wrists. 

As he spoke to a blonde with dark sparkling eyes, he let his mind and attention wander and ran his gaze over certain points on her person, tilting his head when he noticed the very faint white band of skin on her ring finger. She had been fairly recently divorced. John lifted his eyes to her neck and followed the glint of a gold chain down to her bosom, knowing without actually seeing the end of it that it housed her wedding ring. John looked at her face and smiled softly, suddenly noticing her red-rimmed eyes and the very slight downturn of her mouth whenever she paused in her talking. 

It was obvious why she had come to the party. In fact, as John ran his eyes over the rest of the room, it was obvious why they were all there. It had been just like Sherlock had presumed, and John pursed his mouth in annoyance at the realisation that he was just another lonely person amongst a room of lonely people. Even Lestrade looked sad, drowning his sorrows with another can of lager and hiding behind a forced rumble of laughter and high spirits. 

John opened his mouth to reply to the questioning look the blonde woman was giving him once he returned his attentions to her but his phone vibrated and saved him the trouble. At first he glanced at the clock, noting the time with a flare of emotion and a significant glimpse around the room, and then he slipped the phone from his pocket with an exaggerated contrite expression to the company he kept. Peeking at the screen and thumbing open the recent message with a resigned and inward sigh, John wondered if he would ever actually succeed in saying no to Sherlock. It seemed that John was always ready to answer Sherlock, to sometimes leave at his insistent beckoning. He always found himself waiting and expecting messages from his friend at all hours of the day and night, no matter where he was or what he was doing. He wasn’t entirely sure what that meant or what that made him to Sherlock. Why couldn’t he say no more often? Why couldn’t he ignore Sherlock? He had tried to, but here he was, about to answer another text from his flatmate and best friend. He knew that if Sherlock asked him again to return to the flat, that he actually just might obey. Anyone else would have turned their phone off. Anyone else wouldn’t have put up with him for as long as John had, and would have left a long time ago. Right?

**Let me in then. SH**

Frowning John looked around, excused himself in a mutter, and gestured vaguely to Lestrade as he jogged over to the door to open it with a harsh breath of annoyance, tugging his mouth up in a tight and prim and attentive smile. Sherlock turned to look at him just as the door swung open, bundled up in his coat, faintly dampened by the light spattering of London rain, and ran his eyes quickly down John’s front before he stepped inside and shot a forced but displeased smile over at a suddenly grinning Lestrade.

“I brought the brandy,” Sherlock rumbled under his breath, low enough for only John’s ears and pulled a silver flask from his pocket briefly, tapping the lid. He darted his sharp and bright eyes over the crowd and followed John through the room slowly, keeping close to John’s back and looming over whoever he past with an air of arrogance and dislike. “Hm. More women than I originally thought...”

“Yeah,” John huffed and swatted at the open sides of Sherlock’s coat when it was unbuttoned, loosening the scarf from his neck with a rough yank. “I can’t believe you brought brandy in a bloody flask. And you know Lestrade might ask for you to take this bloody coat off, right?”

“To which I shall decline to do so,” Sherlock replied with a shrug and bumped into John when he stopped and turned to look up at Sherlock, searching his face. Wondering why he was so different to any other friend John had ever had, why Sherlock made him feel a mixture of warmth, adrenaline, excitement and awe. “What?”

“…Nothing. I’m…glad you came,” John told him with a quick smile and an awkward clearing of his throat. “You were right by the way. Place is full of desperate fools. Quite sure that’s one of the reasons I’m here. I’m one of them, aren’t I? How long have I been one of them, Sherlock? Do I really look as miserable as they do?”

Sherlock smiled at him, “You aren’t one of them, John.”

“No?” John sighed, eyeing up the women again, abruptly aware of the bags under their eyes, the way they fiddled with phones and jewellery, and how they cradled and hid behind glasses and glasses of booze. “Seems like I belong here. Only difference between them and me is that they’ve all mostly come out of long-term relationships, whereas me, well, I’ve just had the odd fumble here and there. Nothing as devastating as a divorce or break up on my end, just months and months of nothing but dead body parts in the fridge and frankly offensive smells in the living room. You really need to cut down in the New Year, by the way.”

Sherlock pushed the flask into his hand and then turned to lean against a wall, staring out at the room, paying special attention to the clock, “Any New Year’s resolutions?” he intoned, barely disguising the disinterest in his voice.

“The same old, really. Lose weight. Keep fit. Do more for the fellow man. Get a lasting relationship maybe,” John mumbled, eyeing the profile of Sherlock’s face and noting the way his jaw was clenched. He was wound up tight, his body so overly nonchalant that it made John frown. Was he being deliberately obvious for a reason? “Though, I could always do with some new ones. Any suggestions? What are yours, if you have any at all?”

Sherlock shrugged, “Just the one this year,” he whispered, tone low and meek and very faintly wavering. If John didn’t know any better, he would say that Sherlock was nervous, possibly terrified, though it wasn’t often that Sherlock felt emotions, let alone showed them. “Drink up.”

“I don’t need your bloody brandy, Sherlock,” John laughed, stuffing the flask back into Sherlock’s coat pocket. “Are you okay? You look a bit…I don’t know, out of sorts.”

“Do I?” Sherlock uttered quietly, still paying close attention to the clock until the blonde woman from before sidled up to John’s side. At her appearance, Sherlock straightened to his natural height, squared his shoulders, narrowed his eyes and loomed. “No.” He told her curtly.

John sighed sharply and shot the woman a quick apologetic smile, “Sherlock. Don’t be so rude, for goodness sake.” He turned to her and waved a hand in Sherlock’s direction. “Don’t mind him, he’s an arsehole. And, um, sorry about wandering off like I did before, I had to let this one in. Seems he’s incapable of using a doorbell. Are you having fun?”

“Yes. Greg sure knows how to host a nice little party, doesn’t he?” She replied with a forced smile, her eyes flitting from John’s face to Sherlock’s and back again. “I…came over to ask if you wanted another drink?—”

“He has a drink,” Sherlock interrupted before John could politely decline. “Go away.”

“Sherlock!”

“I don’t know why you carry around your wedding ring,” Sherlock continued, motioning to her necklace with his eyes right before she reached for it subconsciously with the fingers of her left hand. “It was your fault the marriage ended. Infidelity. Not exactly a good trait in a wife, is it?”

John glared at Sherlock and before the woman could burst into tears or hit him, or both, he looped his hand around his arm and dragged Sherlock to the corner of the room, “What’s wrong with you? Could you stop being a complete and utter bellend for just one day?”

“I was only saving you from—”

“I was going to decline her offer anyway,” John hissed lowly. “I don’t want another drink and I have no interest in her, at all, I was just being polite! Sociable. Something you definitely need to look into, Sherlock. I’ve had enough of your rudeness. You had no right or reason to be horrible to her. Her business is hers, and hers alone. You can’t possibly know what happened in her marriage that drove her into the arms of another. All right? You know nothing.”

Sherlock lowered his gaze to where John still held onto his arm, and the corners of his pursed mouth twitched and flickered downward briefly, “I know that she wanted to stick by you so she had someone to kiss at midnight.”

John tried to catch his eye, “So? I’d very much like to kiss someone myself to be quite honest with you. It’s one of the reasons I came, as a matter of fact. Surely you knew this. In fact, you’re the one that first brought it up!”

“You don’t have to kiss anyone,” Sherlock told him with a curled lip, glowering around the room, his face tight and his posture still unbelievably tense. “It’s just a stupid so-called tradition that—”

“Shut up.” John squinted at his expression and touched higher up on his arm with concern, observing the crease between Sherlock’s brows with more intent. “What’s wrong? You’re acting…off.”

Sherlock shook his head and then leaned back, pulling away and taking back out the flask, “Nothing. Go off and find yourself a lovely little damaged woman to exchange saliva with. Don’t let me stop you.”

John snatched the flask away, shoved it back into the coat pocket, and tilted his head, narrowing his eyes on the way Sherlock suddenly and effortlessly blanked his expression, gaze unreadable and body languid and radiating boredom. He looked like he normally did; cool, collected and closed off, and John scoffed at the sight and glanced at the clock. It was a mere thirty seconds until midnight and everyone was gathering in the centre of the room with Lestrade, holding wine glasses and cans and cups, laughing and joking with rising anticipation. Sherlock turned away from him abruptly, to leave the room, but John grabbed his wrist and tugged him close, determined to get to the bottom of Sherlock’s weird behaviour, even as a small part of him slowly began to understand, to push everything together piece by piece. The mental images of Sherlock bent over his microscope, playing his violin, laughing, smiling, pulling obscenely comical faces when annoyed, amused, or impish, bombarded John’s mind with a sudden and sharply powerful fluttering in his gut and pounding of his heart.

Lestrade caught his eye as he pulled Sherlock in and John smiled tightly with a nod, “I’ll be right there, Greg.”

“And I’ll be just leaving,” Sherlock said, jerking from John’s grip to stalk toward the door, brushing John off coldly when he trailed after him outside without hesitation, snagging Sherlock’s coat sleeve. “Let go. John. Let. Go. Go back and just let me go.”

John dragged him around to stand face to face with him on the pavement, “No.”

As he wrestled for a better grip on Sherlock’s struggling and retreating figure, further following him down the street, people around him began counting down, gazing up and over at Big Ben and the London Eye in anticipation for the firework display, “Better go back inside, John. Don’t want to miss your opportunity to steal a kiss from one of the many pathetic and lonesome and emotionally stunted people inside.”

“I won’t. How can I when one such person is right in front of me,” John sneered before he could stop himself, his fingers releasing when Sherlock stuttered to a stop and straightened his spine, lifting his head to the sky briefly, breathing out a misted cloud of hot breath. When he turned around and Sherlock’s eyes met his, John blinked at the intensity in them and was only able to breathe out a shaky and questioning breath in return before the count down became louder. 

“I wanted to do this at the flat. It would have been so much better at the flat,” Sherlock whispered just as everyone surrounding them erupted in cheers and the sky exploded in a shower of colourful splashes of light, bracketing his head and highlighting his curls in flashes of whites, blues, reds and golds. With a sigh, Sherlock stepped up to John and embraced him tightly, his mouth turned into the red and cold skin of his ear. “Happy New Years, John… I love you.”

John blinked and flinched as if struck, but curled his arms around Sherlock as he made a move to pull away, “Yeah?” he murmured, grateful that Sherlock could still make out his words even over the noise drowning them. John watched as Sherlock glanced at him and nodded curtly, mouth compressed in apprehension, and quickly cradled his face in his hands. “I love you too, you arse.”

“…Perhaps I should rephrase,” rumbled Sherlock after a bout of staring so intense that John felt heat flare at the base of his spine and through his pelvis, “I rather meant that I think…that I’m…that I’m in love with—”

Crushing their mouths together John closed his eyes and pushed his fingers up into chilly and slightly damp curls, urging Sherlock closer. Sherlock’s face, when he released it, was open and vulnerable, cheeks and mouth blushed red, “Like I said,” John breathed quietly, rubbing his thumbs over the arc of his cheekbones, “I love you too.”

“You…do?”

“Oh God yes.” John grinned, letting him go after noticing a few people grinning and staring at them. “Well, that’s your one and only New Year’s resolution sorted, isn’t it?”

Sherlock’s peered at John with a wide, wonky and entirely genuine uncurling of his mouth, and looked down when John entwined their hands, “Yes,” he whispered contentedly, and moved with John without complaint as they made their way back to an awaiting and smirking Lestrade.

“And for the record,” John said, impishly, tugging Sherlock close to his side, “you really do have lovely smooth, pale skin and a pretty mouth.”

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback fuels me!


End file.
